Oi, Pond!
by Jasper winked
Summary: The Doctor is not in love with Amelia Pond. Really. Fluff sprinkled lightly with angst. Eleven/Amy.


**A/N: **So, I know I have a ton of stories to update, and not enough inspiration to spread to all of them, but the idea for this was just stuck in my head and I had to write it out. It's rather short, but oh well.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Doctor Who or the characters involved.

Oi, Pond!

_1_

"Pond!" he says, affronted to such a ridiculous extent, that she laughs.

"Relax, Doctor," Amy replies, her Scottish accent dipping coyly, before she grins cheekily at him. "I need to use the loo, but since you got us thrown in jail—"

He lets a grumble of protest at this, which she waves away dismissively. "I intend to get us out of here, if you would just let me—"

The Doctor interrupts her again, eyes darkening. "I am not having you seduce the guard, Amelia."

She murmurs something, of which he only catches the word "aunt" and then assumes the rest of her sentence correctly. Standing up, she tosses her vibrant red hair indignantly, hiking her short skirt higher, and brushes her legs off, dusty from the grey cement ground.

He glares at her.

"Oi!" Amy calls, leaning against the cold metal bars of their cell.

"The guard isn't going to be _attracted_," he mutters the word with another look at her, "to you," he finishes. "This is the moon of Tqerw. The people mate for life and have a third eye, you know."

She doesn't even glance back at him.

The young male guard comes—third eye and all—and Amy smiles at him. "Hello," she says lightly, reaches through the bars to grasp his lapel boldly. The guard looks down at her, confused. Which is when, pulling him by his jacket, she slams him into the metal bars, knocking him unconscious.

She lowers him as softly as she can to the ground—which is not that softly at all, considering she has next to no upper body strength—going through the guard's pockets as well.

Amy pulls out the Doctor's sonic screwdriver with a triumphant "Aha!" and turns, throwing it to him.

"Now get us out of here," she adds, "I _really _need to go to the loo."

"Amy Pond," he says, looking softly and slowly. Her name melts into a mix of _madimpossiblemagnificent _on his tongue and he shivers.

_2_

The Doctor doesn't know how it happens, because all he can remember in the beginning are blurs and faint traces of her nail varnish. They don't end up on the second sun of Aquydev, where the rain is tinted golden and the wind whispers sodden melodies into the ears of passing travelers.

There is a bang and other shenanigans—_such a lovely word—_and—

Amy is stumbling out of the TARDIS doors, swept up in a crowd of rioting people, as they scream for the justice of a city warring with itself.

He manages to find a rebel camp, the bodies pilling up around its borders. He stands on top of a mossy hill stained with blood, and commands the attention of many. When he tells them to pull together, when he thinks of some clever idea, all he wants to shout is _where is she?_

There's a girl in the rebel camp, and the first time he sees her, he thinks _Amy. _Her hair is almost red—except Amelia Pond is feisty and stubborn and _Scottish_ and would never settle for almost—but he's so driven with worry that he is a foot away when she breaks his hope.

He spends the rest of his time in the rebel camp, the smell of copper and salt sticking to him. He hates her, the almost Amy, and the girl is so scared of his glares that she refuses to go anywhere near him.

He wants to apologize, but _can't. _He spits, "Get away from me," at the almost Amy, shoving her away from him when she wanders too close and feels disgusted at himself, at her as well for good measure.

And when he finds Amy—real, _alive _Amy—she is in his arms and he presses kisses everywhere he can find—but not her lips, _not her lips_—her hair, her forehead, dropping one in her palm.

Her fingers curl, as if his kiss is a tangible object, as if she will keep it to press between the pages of a book.

He breathes her name again and again until the jumbled syllables become what he really means to say: _you're alive, you're alive, you're alive—_

_3_

Amy Pond has never been good at waking up. She stumbles into the TARDIS kitchen, still dazed and in her rumpled nightdress.

"Oh, Pond," he says affectionately, pulling out a chair for her.

She glares sleepily at him, stealing his bowl of cereal—the Doctor has decided with determination to try new breakfast food—and uses his spoon to scoop milk and wheat flakes into her mouth.

He grumbles at her, while she swallows and says with as much energy as she can gather, "What is this rubbish?"

Then she puts strawberries in the cereal, ignoring his protests.

"Strawberries in cereal?" the Doctor asks in horror. "Why would you even—"

Amy sighs, digs another spoon out for him, and pushes the bowl of cereal into the middle of the table so they can share.

He eats a portion, still frowning. "Fruit in cereal?"

Amy stands up, brushing strands of red hair out of her face, and gets sugar from the cupboard. She pours a spoonful of sugar into the bowl, sweetening it.

He takes a bite and pretends not to like it. She pretends not to grin into the bowl.

_4_

"Hey."

"What?"

"Gotcha."

He laughs affectionately into her hair. "…Gotcha."

**A/N: **Eleven/Amy has recently become my OTP and this is my first foray into the pairing, actually. I'd love to hear any thoughts—were they in character? Did their relationship seem realistic? So please review!


End file.
